


Worlds Apart

by thisisthemorning



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 00:54:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5950039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisthemorning/pseuds/thisisthemorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione stumbles across a decades old mystery. It leads her to Susan Pevensie...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worlds Apart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Katherine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katherine/gifts).



Hermione pushed her fingers into her hair and sighed. The dusty reports in front of her were some of the least interesting materials she had ever read - and just a few months previously, she would still have sworn that nothing related to magic could ever bore her.

"Imagine Ron's face if, after everything I've done, I'm defeated by _books_ ," she reminded herself fiercely, and turned the page, willing herself to concentrate. Column after column of incident reports and legal decisions by the Ministry of Magic spread across the page, most of the most trivial nature: _7th July 1950: 6 Muggles witness to a levitation charm. Muggles obliviated and wizard Hester Bones fined 20 sickles. 8th July 1950: witch Jessia Featherfew apprehended for unlicensed sale of love potions. 9th July 1950..._ And so it continued. Hermione knew that developing a comprehensive understanding of previous legal decisions by the Ministry was essential for beginning a career in Magical Law, particularly if she wanted to be involved in _changing_ those laws, but she had never imagined that the minutiae would be so, well, _boring_.

"I've been taken in by Harry and Ron's ideals about the kinds of things Aurors do," she sighed. Of course the law couldn't be quite so exciting. She turned the page again, and tried to ignore the headache that played around her temples.

Just as she was about to give up and make herself a cup of tea, a record caught her eye. _16th June 1954: Reports of a strange portal appearing in Wiltshire countryside. Aurors dispatched to investigate, discover only wreckage of Muggle train. Unresolved \- possible hoax. No obliviation required._ Her interest piqued, Hermione scanned the rest of the records for 1954, to see if there were any further mention of the event. Reports of a portal sounded far too specific to be invented, and the involvement of a train rang a bell for her, although she couldn't put her finger on why, precisely.

She closed the book, and stared across the Ministry archives. "June 1954.... A train wreck," she mused. "Why does that seem familiar?"

She slid the dusty book of records back onto its shelf, and went to find her cloak. Apparating was allowed from the cloakroom, and as she shrugged on her cloak and slipped her wand into its deep pocket, Hermione couldn't stop her mind from trying to recall why the strange record of the train wreck had struck her so. Finally, she shook her head, pulled out her wand, and cast a __tempus_ _ charm. "Only four o'clock," she muttered. "Still time." Shoving her wand back into her cloak, she transfigured her robes into jeans and a wool jacket, and Apparated away with a crack.

\---

Salisbury Library. If there were Muggle records of the train crash, she would find them here, Hermione thought, and maybe then she would be able to work out why she felt so compelled to investigate a decades-old mystery - and one that probably wouldn't help her in her studies, at that. A friendly, bespectacled woman at the front desk smiled encouragingly when she asked to see their newspaper archives, and ushered her into a back room.

"You're in luck, dear," she said earnestly. "Nobody else is using the records today - usually, you'd need an appointment, if you want to be sure there'll be space!"

Hermione smiled at her, sensing a fellow book enthusiast. "Well, I'm very grateful you could fit me in this afternoon, then."

"Of course, dear," the librarian replied. "You've got until 6. Do let me know if you can't find anything. Project for university, is it?"

Hermione nodded. "It's part of my studies, yes," she said. It wasn't a lie, after all.

Once the woman had turned and left, smiling encouragingly at her all the while, Hermione pulled out her wand. "Accio _Salisbury Journal_ , June 1954," she whispered.

A bound volume flew from a high shelf to the rear of the small room, and landed with a small thud on the desk in front of her. Hermione smiled with anticipation - the prospect of actually fulfilling research never ceased to make her heart pound, albeit in a completely different manner from battling Death Eaters or hunting Horcruxes. She thumbed through the pages, somewhat yellow with age, carefully avoiding creasing or crumbling the edges. "June 1st, 2nd, 3rd...." she murmured. "Ah! 17th of June."

The front page for that day was filled with a photograph - still, of course - of the wreckage of a steam train and its carriages, strangely not so dissimilar from the Hogwarts Express. The damage looked terrible: the engine was twisted and burnt beyond almost all recognition, and the carriages had splintered and collapsed into one another like the folds of an accordion. Hermione couldn't imagine how anyone had survived.

As she quickly read the article, however, it seemed that at least a few people had.

_Survivor Alex Jones described how, moments before the crash occurred, a blindingly bright light had filled the carriage in which he was seated. Other survivors and eyewitnesses report a similar light, with one Mary Patrick calling it "a portal, and it swallowed up those boys." While such descriptions could perhaps be dismissed as the effects of the shock those who survived had suffered, the fact remains that several passengers have not yet been accounted for, although the police are certain they have removed all bodies from the wreckage. The_ Journal _will continue to report on this unfolding mystery; police are as yet reluctant to state what caused this tragedy._

Hermione frowned, and flicked through the pages to the reports of the following days. The reporter seemed to become increasingly frustrated with the lack of answers provided by the authorities - it seemed that the investigation had never discovered what had caused the crash, and the police had been reluctant to release any information at all. Little mention was made of the report of a 'portal'. It seemed that the Ministry's conclusion had been right, and that the Muggles had dismissed it as a hoax. Still, Hermione wasn't so sure, although there wasn't much additional information in the newspaper articles.

Her internal musings were interrupted as a name caught her eye. _Missing passengers named in Salisbury train wreck_ , the headline read, and it listed five names which caused Hermione to draw in breath sharply. "Peter, Edmund, and Lucy Pevensie," she said, wonderingly. "And Eustace Scrubb and Jill Pole. It can't be." She turned the pages still further, and found yet another confounding report. _Mystery deepens: Pevensie sister close-mouthed about disappearances_ , read the headline for July 7th. _Susan Pevensie, of Abingdon, Oxfordshire, would not be drawn into speculation regarding the mysterious disappearance of her three siblings. When asked whether she thought they had reason to fake their own deaths, Miss Pevensie replied that "they've gone where I can't follow, and I don't wish to discuss it further." The twenty-year-old secretary refused all further requests for interviews._

Susan Pevensie. Now that was a name that Hermione was sure she knew. She closed the book slowly, and stared at it for a moment. "It can't be," she said aloud, and immediately flushed, realising how silly that sounded. Of course it could - had the last few years of her life not proven that anything was possible?

"Well, I'm in a Muggle library," she said, at last. "I can find the book, and make sure I'm not going completely mad."

Forgetting the bound book of newspapers in her somewhat flustered state, Hermione stood and left the records room, heading for the main part of the library.

A minute or so after she had left, the bespectacled librarian entered the room. Seeing the book on the table, she paused, resting her hand on it for a minute, and frowned. Then, she reshelved the book, returned to her desk, and made a short phone call.

\---

Hermione had found the children's section of the library, and was engrossed in a book, when a tall, thin, elegant woman, with brown eyes and hair that might once have also been a deep brown, tapped her on the shoulder.

Hermione started, and looked up sharply. The woman smiled thinly, although it didn't reach her eyes. "I'm sorry to have startled you. I just wanted to ask you - why were you looking at the records of the old train crash?" Her voice was soft - they were in a library, after all - and her tone wasn't accusing, but there was an edge to it that suggested there was something behind the question - an iron aspect to the woman's soul that expected her questions to be answered, and properly.

Hermione laid the book down slowly, and stood up. "I'm sorry, do you work here?" she said, politely. "I was just doing some research for a project." She returned the woman's smile, noticing the small lines around her eyes, and her trim, professionally cut clothing. She certainly didn't look like a librarian.

The woman looked her in the eye. "Not exactly," she said shortly. "I have a.... personal interest in the case. Priscilla" - she gestured to the librarian at the desk - "let me know what you had been researching. She thought I might like to talk to you."

That she might like to talk to me, Hermione noted, not I to her. She frowned. "Well, I'm afraid I don't know much about the case," she said. "It just came up in a project I was working on - local history, you know." She smiled, attempting to look disarming. It wasn't as if she could explain the real project, after all - particularly not now that she was convinced there was a magical aspect to the crash, one that the Ministry had covered up.

The woman gave her a half smile, and looked down at the book Hermione had been reading, somewhat pointedly. "I rather think you know more than most," she said, softly. "My name is Susan Pevensie. Perhaps that changes things for you?"

Hermione's expression must have given away her surprise, because the woman - Susan - laughed, although not warmly. "I thought it might. Perhaps we might leave the library, and you can explain why you are here?"

Something about the older woman's demeanour left Hermione feeling as though she couldn't really say no, so she nodded, mutely, and followed her from the library. She couldn't help but glance back at the book she had left on the table, feeling like she understood exactly why she had the urge to curtesy, although she didn't want to believe it.

\---

The tea shop near the cathedral was quiet, the rainy November evening putting off many shoppers who might usually have frequented it. Susan lead Hermione to a table in a corner, with two high-backed wooden chairs. As they seated themselves, a waitress brought, without being prompted, a metal pot of tea and two cups and saucers. Hermione guessed that this must be a regular haunt of her odd companion's.

"Hermione," she said, breaking the silence, as Susan began to pour the tea without so much as a word. "Hermione Granger." She paused, as Susan looked up, one eyebrow raised. "You told me your name, but I didn't tell you mine. So. It's Hermione."

"Hermione," Susan said, slowly. "Very well, then. Perhaps you could tell me what you were seeking, in the train crash reports from so long ago,"

Hermione lifted her chin and looked Susan in the eyes. "As I said," she said lightly. "I was doing some research into local history, and came across a reference to it."

Susan returned her gaze. "And where does your interest in that period of local history come from?" she asked neutrally.

It was Hermione's turn to raise an eyebrow. "I'm sorry, Miss Pevensie, but I'm afraid I don't quite understand your questioning me. I'm not sure I see why the librarian needed to inform you of my research, or why I should justify it to you."

To her surprise, Susan gave her a small smile, and raised her teacup to her lips. "Most people who have an interest in local history don't go directly from reading about it in newspapers to intently reading children's stories," she said, softly. "And I happen to know that the reports of my siblings' deaths can only be found if you specifically go looking for them."

Hermione sipped her own tea. "I'm sorry for your loss," she said, genuinely. "But I could add that most people don't appear in both newspapers and children's stories. At least not those kinds of children's stories."

Susan looked at her for a long minute. "Fairytales," she said finally, shortly. "Written by a... family friend, to make the war more palatable and to give tragedy some meaning." Her face had lost its coldness, and taken on a emptiness, an expression Hermione had seen before in George Weasley. It spoke of a loss that amounted to more than just a person, but of a whole way of being that was gone forever.

"But not for you?" Hermione ventured. Susan's explanation made sense - to some extent. There was still the matter of the "portal". The books certainly offered a convincing explanation for that, more than anything else she could think of.

Susan looked down at her teacup. "I already knew the meaning," she said. Her tone was not bitter, Hermione realised. If anything, she sounded more resigned.

A silence fell between them, and then Susan looked up, and said urgently: "If you're looking for a way back, you won't find it with me, nor in the records." For a moment, she seemed younger than her years, vital and beautiful.

Hermione frowned, once again surprised by the other woman. "A way back?" she repeated, confused. Then, at once, it clicked. "Oh... I'm not... I mean, I haven't..."

Susan seemed to shrink back into her chair, the aura of vitality and sheer power of personality slipping away. "Then I'm sure you can't imagine," she said, softly enough that Hermione could only just hear her. "I'm sure you can't imagine what it's like, to have someone come to you as a child, and tell you that another world exists, one full of magic and possibility."

Hermione carefully placed her teacup on the table, drew out her wand, and cast a Disillusionment Charm around them, so that nobody else would notice them or hear their conversation. Susan's eyes widened, but she said nothing, waiting for Hermione to speak. It was that, if nothing else, which convinced Hermione that the woman before her really was the same Susan Pevensie from her favourite childhood books.

"When I was eleven years old," she began, "I received a letter, inviting me to attend a school I'd never heard of before. It was delivered by an owl..."

Hermione's confession lead to Susan telling of her first sight of Narnia, to their experiences of battles and evil witches and wizards, of magical creatures and talking animals, of forces of Light and Darkness. Hermione explained what she had had to do to her parents to protect them from harm, and the rift it had created which still hadn't healed.

Finally, Susan looked down at her teacup, empty now except for the dregs. "You read the books that Lewis wrote about us," she said, softly. "Perhaps you judged me for my choice."

Hermione leaned forward. "Do you judge me for mine? I'm sure you had your reasons to distance yourself, even if he didn't understand them," she said, eyes full of sympathy.

"The grief nearly tore me apart," Susan said, tipping her cup this way and that. "I think I understood better than anyone, that having grown up once in Narnia, I would have to do it all again - and this time, not as a queen, not in a place of wonder and enchantment, not with everything I had come to hold dear." She looked at Hermione. "I knew I had to find strength to do it, all over again, this time in a world where I was just a silly little girl. And I knew that I would never go back to Narnia. If I had clung to that.... I would never have found the strength to move forwards." Her mouth twisted into half a smile. "The real world is full of battles, in its own way."

Hermione returned her smile, hesitantly. "I think every world is," she said, feeling a hollow sensation at the pit of her stomach. What if she hadn't just had to face giving up her family, but also all of the magical world, in order to survive? Could she have done it?

Susan put down her teacup with a rattle. "It certainly sounds like yours is," she said. Reaching out, she gripped Hermione's hand. "I thought I would find in you someone who had been to Narnia too, someone searching for a way back, and I wanted to tell you to stop looking, to make your place in the world you are in," she said tensely. "But I see now that things are different for you."

Hermione nodded, and swallowed. "I don't think I'll have to leave my world behind," she said. "At least, I hope not."

Susan gave her another half smile, this one somewhat warmer than the others. "Still," she said. "Don't let any world tell you what your place is. Make your own. But learn from my mistake. You don't need to push away those you love while you're making it."

Hermione gripped Susan's hands in return. A lump had risen in her throat. "I won't," she said, sincerely, thinking of Ron, and Harry, and the bridges she intended to build in her relationship with her parents. "And thank you." She grinned, suddenly, as a thought struck her. "You know, I never imagined that my favourite fictional character would one day sit down for tea with me."

Susan laughed in surprise. "I was?" Her smile now was truly genuine. "I never imagined I would be someone's favourite character."

\---

After they had finished their tea, and Susan had thrust a calling card into Hermione's hand, urging her to write, and Hermione had promised that she would, and they had said goodbye in the rain on the doorstep of the tea shop, Hermione watched Susan walk away, back straight and proud as a queen, and knew what she needed to do. She knew what the laws of her world required of her, what her new _job_ required of her, and her hand found her wand inside her coat.

She lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and instead found the calling card in her pocket. Twisting it in her fingers, she turned and walked away.

**Author's Note:**

> Your prompt of having them meet at a train station gave root to this idea, which does involves trains but never quite made it to a station! I hope, nevertheless, that you enjoyed this story, and that it was somewhere along the lines of what you had in mind.


End file.
